


Forty Eight in the Shade

by halfthewords (Sierra)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra/pseuds/halfthewords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Give me one reason not to send you back to Atem disfigured and dishonoured," he threatened. "I could blame this entire thing on your clumsiness, your lack of experience."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Eight in the Shade

“There _has_ to be an easier way for me to learn this!” Mana exclaimed. Dropping her staff in exasperation, she collapsed onto the ground under one of the sycamore trees, scattering some of the flowers that had fallen there. 

 

“It would be simple if you would listen to instruction the first time it was given,” Mahaad rebuked.

 

Pouting, Mana rolled over on her side to face her teacher.  “It’s too hot.”

 

Mahaad stifled a sigh, pushing some hair back off his face.  Bending to pick up the discarded staff, he walked over to join her beneath the shade. He lowered himself, sitting with his back against the base of the tree, one knee drawn up. He rested an arm on it, twirling Mana’s staff idly as he tilted his head back to survey the cloudless blue sky that filtered through the gaps in the leaves above. The day was growing warmer and it was barely mid-morning.  The shadows that the trees cast in the courtyard were already long and did almost nothing to relieve the heat, if Mana’s groans were any indication.

 

“We’ll resume your lesson before dusk. By then, you will have recovered and it should pose no problem if the heat is truly what’s inhibiting you,” he said, holding Mana’s staff out to her.  She took it and nodded, oddly silent as she ran her fingers along the spirals that curled around the shaft.  

 

Taking advantage of the rare moment of peace, Mahaad closed his eyes, trying to ignore the trickle of sweat from his brow to his cheek.  Right as he felt himself drifting towards sleep, the doors to the courtyard swung open and Mahaad’s eyes opened again.  He warded off his irritation, seeing before him a red-faced servant who looked like he’d run a considerable distance to get there.  Though it was no one of real importance, Mahaad rose to his feet. Quickly, the boy knelt, eyes fixed to the sandstone pavements.

 

“My lord Mahaad,” said the servant, swiping his wrist across his forehead.  “You presence is requested.”

 

“By whom?”

 

“The lord Set.”

 

Mahaad felt his mouth press into a hard line at the mention of the other priest’s name.  Glancing at Mana, he inclined his head, silently communicating that she should leave.  Wordlessly, she nodded, scurried to her feet and slipped out the way the servant had come in, forgetting to close the doors in her haste. 

 

Mahaad lowered his voice: “What is his reason for interrupting my student’s lessons?”

 

The boy risked a look up at Mahaad, his face grim.  Mahaad supposed he would be, too, if he were serving Set; the man took his duty more seriously than perhaps even Mahaad himself did, and his punishments for failing to deliver were well-known among everyone who lived or worked in the palace.

 

“He has invited you to hunt with him.”

 

“When?”

 

Nervously, the boy shook his head. “He is already half a day’s ride away, my lord. Camp has been set up at the edge of the oasis.  If you are to join him by tonight, you must leave now.”

 

“ _Tonight_?” Mahaad’s ire rose again.  “Why wasn’t I informed before he left?”

 

The servant dropped his head again, sounding helpless as he said, “I was only given this message, my lord.”

 

His irritation was misplaced; the boy could hardly be blamed for Set’s impudence.

 

“Very well.” Mahaad waved the boy away, raising a hand to his temple as if that might delay the oncoming headache. He sank back down again for a while longer to think, let his anger cool, before he sought out Atem.

 

:::

 

Waiting for the chamber of officials and envoys to empty, Mahaad nodded politely to the ones he knew, and tucked the Ring into his robe before he could forget.  When he was certain there was nobody else left, he went through the doorway, hesitating at the threshold.  Atem was poring over some documents, a blank papyrus roll secured underneath his elbow.  A pot of ink and feather quills had yet to be touched.  He beckoned Mahaad in with a hand, smiling warmly at him.  “What brings you here?  It’s too early for you to be done with Mana.”

 

Despite their years of friendship, Mahaad knelt, bracing his arm on his knee.  “She has the morning off—well, the entire day, and maybe even tomorrow.” His face darkened a bit, which Atem no doubt noticed, for concern flitted across his features.

 

“What is it?”

 

Mahaad weighed his words in his head, before he said slowly, “Set asked that I join him on a hunt.”

 

Atem seemed surprised. His eyebrows went up, and his finger to his mouth.  “Are you going to humour him?”

 

Mahaad coughed to hide a laugh. “I think I’ll have to, or he may be offended, my lord,” he answered, getting to his feet again.

 

Atem chuckled. “Then why do you look worried?”

 

One of the few things about Atem that bothered Mahaad was his ability to read him like an open book. None of the others could. He lowered his eyes, frowning.

 

“I feel like I’m being lured into a trap of some sort,” he muttered, knowing that he couldn’t be putting Atem in an easy position right now.  “We have...differences.”

 

“And that’s to say the least,” Atem said, a teasing note to his voice.  Pushing his chair back, he stood, and moved in front of the table. With Mahaad’s eyes downcast, Atem was at the ideal height for looking straight up at them.  His face held a hint of a fondness that gave way to something in Mahaad’s stomach, for it felt like it was turning over. Atem raised a hand to brush his fingers over Mahaad’s cheek, and then he used one to tip Mahaad’s chin up slightly. “I think you should go.”

 

Mahaad was startled for a moment, but he allowed himself a smile.  “If you order me, I can hardly refuse, my pharaoh.”

 

Catching on, Atem laughed again.

 

“As you wish,” he said briskly. “Mahaad, you are to accompany Set on his hunting venture.”  A grin broke through his stern expression.  “And you are to bring back enough meat for the feast we shall have on your return.”

 

:::

 

Mahaad clung tightly to the railing of the chariot, holding an arm up to protect his eyes from the wind and the sand kicked up by the horses.  Atem had insisted he take one of their finest war chariots and two of the fastest horses in the stables.  Both were solidly-built black mares, and the red and gold ostrich-feathered plumes attached to their bridles bobbed with their steady pace; the leather harnesses were polished and gleamed even against the jet black of the horses’ coats. The gilded chariot was one that Atem himself had used in the past; its footboard was made of hard sycamore wood, and the axles greased so well they scarcely made a sound. It was, really, fit for a king, and the fact that he would be showing up to Set’s encampment in it gave him some satisfaction. 

 

Soon enough, the driver began to slow the horses.  In the distance, Mahaad could make out columns of smoke that hazed in the heat of the day, and tents were set up as far as half a mile across; one of them, a red imperial tent, was far larger than the others.  It was evident Set had bought a great host of men with him; whatever the reason, it was an overstatement to Mahaad.  By now they had probably scared off any game nearby. 

 

When they finally entered the camp, Mahaad instructed the driver to take him to Set’s tent. He was feeling queasy from over six hours in the chariot, and the sun would soon be setting.  He wanted nothing more than to find Set, get his quarters settled, and get some rest.  Ignoring the stares of Set’s men, who peered out of their tents and from around their fires at him, he kept his eyes forward until he could step off the chariot. One of the servants tending a horse’s swollen leg ran inside the tent; seconds later, Set emerged, resplendent (to Mahaad’s disgust) in his robes.  The blue of the outer layer suited his eyes too well.  He held the Rod in one hand—normally it was tucked away in his clothes, but Mahaad could read the threat easily enough, subtle as it was.

 

“You made it,” was all that came out of Set’s smirking mouth.  Mahaad bit his tongue, forcing a smile that he was certain looked like more of a grimace.

 

“I thank you for the belated invite,” Mahaad replied, resting his hand on the neck of one of the horses that had pulled his chariot, more to steady himself and his stomach than anything else.  When the barb failed, he patted the horse soundly.  “Atem sends his regards.”

 

“So I see,” Set said coolly.

 

Mahaad handed the reins of the horses to the driver, directing him to untie them, feed and water them well. The driver bowed and led the horses away as Mahaad glanced at his surroundings; the smoke was thick and he cleared his throat of the fumes.  Set, meanwhile, was watching him.  If Mahaad didn’t know him as well as he did, he might have missed the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. 

 

 _Good_ , Mahaad thought.  _Now you know how it feels._

“What is it we’re hunting, my lord?” he asked. 

 

“Scouts were sent out today. They reported there is a herd of buffalo beyond the oasis.  It is headed by a particularly impressive bull.”  Set stepped back to hold open the curtain of the tent. Mahaad looked at him sharply, searching for any sign that he should not go in.  A smirk appeared at Set’s lips.  “Would you prefer to spend the night with my men?  They are deep in their cups, and I am aware that you especially like your sleep—”

 

Mahaad pushed past Set roughly, feeling the cool scrape of the Rod against his arm. 

 

Set had clearly anticipated Mahaad’s arrival, for there was a second bed on the far side of the tent; Set’s own was untouched except for a heavy cloak resting on it. For some time, Mahaad tried to stave off the need for sleep, but his earlier tiredness was catching up to him, and it wasn’t until Set was suddenly in front of him, a goblet of red wine cradled between his fingers, that he managed to shake it off.  Mahaad looked at it suspiciously. 

 

“Before you say it, I know what is about to leave your mouth,” Set said, demonstratively taking a sip from the goblet before he offered it to Mahaad. 

 

When he refused, Set pushed it into his hand, frowning down at him.  “It will help with sleep.  You’ll need it if you’re going to be of any use to me tomorrow.”

 

:::

 

“Why this many men if you were only going to take a handful with you?”

 

By dawn, it was already blisteringly hot, and Mahaad had managed to choke down some beer and dried fruit, despite the elaborate breakfast Set had put in front of him. His stomach still had not settled from the previous day’s chariot trip; he wasn’t faring any better today. He again was a passenger while Set commandeered the chariot—the same one Mahaad had arrived in yesterday, complete with the two magnificent mares.  Set didn’t even look at him; he gathered the reins in one hand.

 

“Security,” he called over the sound of hoofbeats and shuddering wheels from the surrounding chariots. Ten in total, leaving at least two hundred men back at the camp.

 

“Against what?” Mahaad pressed.

 

Now Set did look at him. “You don’t travel to the Red Lands nearly as often as I do.  Don’t question me.”

 

“You could give me a straight answer,” Mahaad retorted, uncaring if he was heard.  Apparently he was, for the chariot veered sharply to the left, and he clutched the guardrail tightly, glaring at Set, who smirked.

 

Hunting had never been of interest to Mahaad, though he had been on enough expeditions to know what to expect and even get a slight thrill from it.

 

After some time, the oasis came into view.  Set slowed the horses to an eventual stop, and there the horses and chariots were separated, the horses tethered to trees and the chariots left guarded by five of the men. Mahaad re-secured the cord that the Ring was hung on, wary of it coming off in the thick of the hunt. Set motioned for silence as they made their way past the tall trees and into a thicket, where a flock of birds burst from the scrub. 

 

Mahaad felt his heartbeat quicken, and he grasped Set’s upper arm reflexively, earning himself a questioning look and a slight frown.  He let go, frowning back at Set and looking away.  He kept both his hands on his spear after that, and a distance of a few metres between himself and Set.  The men behind him were mumbling, wondering what the holdup was, when ahead of him, Set stopped without warning.  Mahaad caught himself. He leaned to the side to see around Set, and his breath stopped for a moment: thirty metres away, the herd of buffalo was grazing on the long grasses that stemmed out of the water. Set, Mahaad and their company were already ankle-deep in it.  Set quickly gestured for them to crouch low, and Mahaad crept closer to him, slow as he dared. At Set’s hip, the Rod glinted in the light. 

 

“He’s there,” he whispered next to Set’s ear, daring to raise his spear and point it in the direction of the bull, a huge beast, near the edge of the group.  One of its horns was only half as long as the other and twisted; its hide was riddled with scars and its eyes were wild and white. For it to have made it to the age it seemed, it had to have weathered many trials; it was a pleasing specimen and it would make be an impressive tribute to Atem. 

 

Set seemed to be deciding what to do next, as Mahaad remembered what made buffalo so dangerous: their dynamic as a herd.  The cows were as fierce as the bulls where their young were concerned, and Mahaad had seen a lion mauled on his first hunt, gored by the horn of an enraged cow with a calf at foot. Buffalo were known to charge at even the slightest provocation.  That was what made them Set’s favourite prey: he liked things that fought back.

 

“I trust you know how to make a clean kill,” Set muttered, so quietly Mahaad strained to catch it. “If it comes to that.”

 

Mahaad started to ask why _he_ would need to be the one to strike the final blow, when that honour was always reserved for Set or the Pharaoh, when Set’s hand was suddenly gripping his knee.  Questioningly, Mahaad waited for an explanation. He didn’t get one, so his eyes followed Set’s to the herd in front of them.  One of the cows had flung its head up, nostrils flaring.  Several others had done the same, including the bull, whose head was now turned in their direction. 

 

The moment of glory for Set had come and gone.  He held his bow tightly in his other hand, the one on Mahaad reaching for the shaft of arrows on his back, slowly so as not to startle the buffalo.  From the muffled gasps behind him, Mahaad knew the rest of the men had noticed, too.  Most of the herd was poised for flight now, their fearful snorts piercing the silence.

 

Set shouted something incomprehensible at the same moment the herd sprang to life and came stampeding towards them; it sounded like “run”, but Mahaad decided not to take chances and rushed to get out of the water.  Set was following him closely, yelling for him to move _faster_. Mahaad made the mistake of looking over his shoulder; there was Set, turning around for a second to loose an arrow at the charging buffalo.  He managed to fell one, and as it crashed to the ground, others around it became entangled with each other; Set had managed to take down seven of them with one strategic shot.  Mahaad would have praised him in different circumstances, but he forced himself to stop and reach back to take Set’s wrist. 

 

If Set sacrificed himself to save the rest of them from a herd of buffalo, Mahaad didn’t think he could explain it to Atem.  As prideful and unbearable as Set could be, his devotion to the pharaoh was absolute, and indeed Mahaad envied him, but he certainly did not hate him.  With that thought in mind, he pulled Set along behind him as he hurriedly searched for somewhere, anywhere they could find safety. Mahaad didn’t need to look to know that the herd was almost upon them now; the thundering hooves and Set’s voice shouting at him were proof enough.

 

“Where is everyone else?” Mahaad thought to ask, breathlessly.

 

“If you _think_ I know—”

 

Mahaad didn’t respond, yanking Set in a different direction suddenly; they were cutting across now, instead of moving forward away from the herd, but Mahaad had a wild feeling that if they kept going that way they’d be trampled.  They burst through a patch of scrub, and Mahaad finally found what he was looking for: a cluster of trees, thick enough to climb, and sturdy enough to hold their weight.  He pushed Set in front of him, urging him to climb first.  Set looked baffled for all of a second, and then he scowled at Mahaad.

 

“If you’re trying to be a hero, Mahaad—”

 

“Be quiet and _climb_ ,” Mahaad interrupted, ignoring Set’s growl of frustration at having been cut off twice. 

 

Nonetheless, the other priest started hauling himself up branch by branch.  Mahaad quickly followed him, his arms shaking with exertion. He had to drop the spear to the ground, feeling a stab of envy that Set managed to climb effortlessly with a bow in hand.  They barely reached halfway up the tree when the herd came stampeding through; the passed right underneath where Mahaad and Set sat, legs dangling down from the branches. Somehow they’d ended up on the same one, with Set perched further out on the branch and Mahaad gripping the trunk. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, until the dust settled and the sound of hooves faded into silence again.

 

Unexpectedly, Mahaad laughed; he wasn’t sure if it was relief or hysteria, but Set joined in briefly. Set winced, clearly uncomfortable in the way he straddled the branch; it was broad, but it couldn’t be pleasant on his lower regions.

 

“We’re going back to Atem empty-handed, aren’t we,” Mahaad remarked.  It was hardly a question. 

 

“Unless you want to go and hunt that bull yourself,” Set muttered, inching his way forward, closer to Mahaad, where the branch was thicker and put less pressure on his groin.   “We’ll hunt some water fowl and a wild ass or ten.”

 

“Much better sounding.”

 

Realizing how near he was to Set, someone he normally tolerated the way one would an insect buzzing around a meal, Mahaad frowned.  Then, he took in Set’s ridiculous position, the Rod hanging from his sash, and his unkempt hair, and he smirked.  Set noticed immediately and Mahaad found himself face-to-face with an arrow, strung taut in the bow.

 

“Give me one reason not to send you back to Atem disfigured and dishonoured,” he threatened. “I could blame this entire thing on your clumsiness, your lack of experience.”

 

Mahaad chuckled, wrapping a hand around the arrow’s shaft and pushing it down.  “You’re going to need my help if we’re going to get out of this tree. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that, by the way.”  He coughed and pointed downwards, averting his eyes.

 

Set scowled, drawing the bow away. “It’s normal!  A normal reaction to excitement or adrenaline or—”

 

“You’re hard from being scared within an inch of your life,” Mahaad said flatly, and that ended the argument.


End file.
